Deceiving
by shortie is back
Summary: **SLASH WARNING** I love him. I must, otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this with another guy. But this is Oscar, the man hiding behind a mask full of hate and spite, the man I love.


**Disclaimer-** I own _Newsies_… I really do! I used my position as the owner of Hell to bribe Disney into giving it to me! Really! Why don't you believe me???

**S/N-** I am now on a slash kick. I can't seem to write anything except angsty, slashy one shots. 

**Warning-** This is SLASH!!! If you don't like slash, or are offended by it, DON'T READ IT! No one's making you, so I don't want to hear you bitch to me about how it's 'wrong' or whatever. YOU ARE YOUR OWN CENSOR!

**Deceiving**

_"If it looks like a cat, acts like a cat, _

_and__ sounds like a cat, it may be a tiger."_

He's there every night, barely more than a silhouette outside the window. The soft glow of the streetlamps casts an eerie light on the street, making his shadow stretch out in front of him almost twice the size of his actual height. Every night, he can be seen there. Just waiting.

And I would sit there on my bed, just looking out at him, wondering if tonight was the night it was finally going to end, or if it would be just like every other night. And if it did end, would it be me who ended it, by not going out to meet him, or would he do it by simply putting the mask back over his face and letting himself be the person everyone else knew him as?

I don't know what I'd do if he became that person to me again. I don't think I could handle him spilling his coffee on my papes at the distribution office, him tipping off the bulls that I had stolen a blanket to keep me warm, him cornering me, beating me with those brass knuckles for no good reason.

This was why I wanted to end it; save myself the pain, not give him the chance to hurt me again. 

He was always worse to me than he was to the others, because he didn't want to admit he had feelings for me, for a _newsie. That was what he told me one night in between kisses; those deep passionate kisses that flooded through me, throwing my senses off so that I could only __feel, making me submissive to whatever he wanted. When he kissed me like that, I was sure that his tough Delancy façade was only an act, that the warm, caring, boy kissing me and telling me he loved me was the real Oscar._

I put myself out to him, giving him everything and making myself completely vulnerable, a position I normally wouldn't let myself be in. But this was different, this was Oscar. I loved him… right?

Yes. Yes, I love him. I really do, but I'm scared of him; scared of what he could do to me at any second. Tonight I was ending it.

He brings his hand to his face, checking that expensive watch his uncle had most likely stolen for him. He's wondering why I'm late, wondering if it's over. I know he is, I know him so well now…

I can't do this to him. I have to go out there.

He sees me the minute the door opens and smiles, relieved.

"I thought you weren't coming."

I force my lips into a smile, one I knew he would immediately see through, "I'd never not come."

"Blink? What's wrong?" He asks, his smile slipping into a frown.

"Nothin', Just…tired, I guess."

"Then maybe I should let you get back to sleep…"

"No. I want to be here. I want you here." I take his shirt in my hand and pull him to me, kissing him hard on the mouth, venting out all my frustrations, all my doubts, feelings, anguish into him, opening my heart and letting him feel everything.

He pulls back first, needing to breathe. "Wow… What was that?"

I grin, this is the real Oscar, I can feel it. "Wanna go somewheah else?"

He takes a deep breath, still slightly winded. "Y-yeah…"

~~~

Oscar has his own apartment. Well, maybe it's not only his, but Morris was out, probably with that ugly hoity-toity girl he had conned into going out with him. Oscar always makes fun of her- she has a harelip.

His apartment isn't that great. The walls are thin, if we're not careful, the whole building can hear us. But I won't complain, it gives us some sort of privacy. That's something you don't get much living with a bunch of guys. 

He pushes me down on the bed as soon as walk in, and climbs on top. I can feel the hard muscles of his stomach pressing down onto my own; he's all over me, lips firmly attached to my neck, leaving a mark I know I'll regret tomorrow, but tonight it doesn't matter. Nothing matters besides him.

The lips go lower, planting soft kisses across my collarbone as he grasps the hem of my shirt and pulls it anxiously over my head, then letting his callused hands glide over my chest, leaving delicious tingling sensations, making me shiver in his arms. He yanks his own shirt off, then, and I gasp at the sudden skin to skin contact. If this is so wrong, then why does it feel so right?

I love him. I must, otherwise I wouldn't be doing this with another guy. But this is Oscar, the man hiding behind a mask full of hate and spite, the man I love.

But what is love anyway? L-O-V-E, four little letters put together to create a word so powerful that it shatters the senses, leaving the strongest of men weak and blubbering. People like Mush, who fall in love with a different girl every week, tell me it's the best feeling on earth. Now I know what Mush is talking about.

~~~

We lie there when it's over, not saying anything- we never do. We just lie there, side by side, my fingers play absently with his hair and he slowly drifts in and out of consciousness. He looks so cute when he sleeps. I lean over and kiss his forehead, and he smiles sleepily at me; a smile that looks foreign on his hardened and mature face; a smile that breaks down the last of the mask, leaving him looking as innocent as an angel. This is the real Oscar.

~~~

The sun is streaming into the room when I open my eyes, so bright I instantly have to close them again. With my eyes still closed, I reach next to me, longing to feel the warm body of Oscar sleeping beside me.

My hand touches only air.

I open my eyes and look at the spot next to me on the bed. There's an indent where he was, and the bed is still warm. He must have not left long ago.

An icy claw clutches at my heart when I find the note he's left for me.

Two words, seven letters; it only takes seven letters to rip my heart to shreds.

**IT'S OVER**

**IT'S OVER**

**IT'S OVER**

It kept repeating itself over and over in my head. 

That wasn't the real Oscar.

He'd deceived me.

~~~

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I'm tired. Please review!


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